


Sarcasm and Heroes (Overwatch Reader inserts)

by KenzlesTheNerdish



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Don't expect too much, Fluff, Humor, I Don't Even Know, I dunno about smut but hell if you want??, Just smol stuff, Mostly Fluff, Multi, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:57:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KenzlesTheNerdish/pseuds/KenzlesTheNerdish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a few fluffLetts I will randomly add at my own convenience. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Western Movies [McCree]

**Author's Note:**

> Western Movies. [McCree]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're stationed alone and undercover. And you're okay with it. Then your partner shows up.

Wild west movies were among the worst genres in movie making, at least, that be the stereotype that was made for a particularly good reason. Said stereotype wasn’t broken by the Overwatch crew- most preferred a romantic comedy or a sci-fi. 

You, however, weren't one to go by stereotypes- whether you decided to or not. Hence, cowboy movies were some of your all time favourite. Especially the cheesy space crossovers. Cowboys and aliens, Space cowboys, and Alien Outlaw were among your favourites. And that wasn’t even counting the regular, not space ones.

Currently, you were lounged on the couch, stretched like a cat, watching Pale Rider. Clint Eastwood was literally the best actor in the entire universe. In your opinion, at least. Free time was abundant, where you were stationed. A simple Canadian undercover mission, just to monitor the place. You had laughed at the idea when you were presented it two months ago.

“Monitor Canadians?” You’d scoffed to Winston upon hearing the task. “You do know how ridiculously ambient they are? Nothing is going to happen.”

“For someone who constantly berates against stereotypes, you’re generalizing a great deal,” Angela said from across the room. Long story short, you were in the middle of the largest city in the ‘ridiculously ambient’ country. Your apartment accommodated two, which puzzled you until this morning.

You woke up to the Overwatch ringtone you’d set specially on your phone, so you'd know it was an emergency call. In other words, the Velociraptor from Jurassic park was screeching in your ear. “Wha...” is all you got out when you groggily answered the phone.

“(Y/n), I know your apartment has the appeal of a pigsty,” the voice at the other end began.

You cut them off before another word could be said. “Hanzo. I don’t care. You keep your own room clean- besides I’m, what, fifteen hundred miles away at the moment? Or should I use Kilometers? Eh?”

Your sarcasm climbed mountains when you were tired. And around the Samurai. 

“I may be, but your partner is going to arrive today. You need to clean.” He said pointedly. He was constantly irritated by your sarcasm and you loved it.

“Partner.” You echoed. “No one told me I’d be sharing. Why do I need a partner for Canada?”

“If I knew, I still wouldn’t tell you.” Hanzo replied. “Clean. And good luck.”

“Screw you.” You huffed, and you knew he heard you before he hung up. It gave you a little satisfaction. You shut the door to your bedroom- which took care of a good 2/3 of the mess- and Zombie’d into the kitchen, where you shovelled garbage into a black bag, and threw dirty dishes into the sink. That was all you did before you flopped onto the couch and flipped to the movie station. 

Hence, Pale Rider.

You were a good ways through- the mining village had just decided to screw themselves over- when the door opened and you could hear footsteps in the front hall. 

An annoyed sigh escaped you. Partner. Right. As you stood, you turned, ready to greet whoever it was with a glare and a short narcissistic word, but you stopped.

Standing in the middle of your apartment was Clint Eastwood himself. 

Well, no, not really, but he looked like it. A vague name surfaced in your mind. Jesse McCree.

“That's my name, Don’t wear it out.” He said with a smirk, only interrupted by the cigarillo hanging from his lip.

Did you say it aloud? You must’ve. “Yeah... I’m-”

“(Y/n). It’s a pleasure,” he stepped forward and offered a hand to shake. The smirk still lingered, and you were deterred for a moment, but still shook his hand.

You didn’t know what to say, but he glanced over your shoulder, his face brightening significantly. “Izzat Pale Rider??” he asked, vaulting over the couch and landing on the slightly stained cushions without waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, I was just watching until you got here...” You answered anyway, deciding to sit and finish the movie. You kept a good cushion between the both of you.

McCree's gaze tore from the screen to meet yours. “You like Western?”

“Yeah....” You Said. Then you added with a mutter, “I like Eastwood the best...”

You weren’t expecting him to laugh. Well, you were, but not the way he did. Instead of a mocking laugh, it was surprisingly soft from such a guy. “That would explain why you were about to call me Clint when I walked through the door.” He chuckled. You feel your face burning. Of course you said that out loud, too. Everyone always did say you were a spoken thinker.

“Forget I did that,” you commanded feebly, suddenly finding the floor pretty interesting. There was a layer of dust you didn’t care to sweep. Miniscule, but there.

He shook his head and tipped his hat back with his thumb. “Nah. I’m totally going to hold you to it.”

A scowl took over your features. There was no way this cowboy was going to outwit you. In your own house. With a huff, you glare at him. “Fine, then I’ll call you Clint Eastwood. Eastwood.”

He arched a brow and leaned over to boop your nose. “Go right ahead.”

So much for that approach. You sighed in exasperation, then stood abruptly. The movie was almost over and you had the lines memorized anyway. You were going to get some comfort food, because you wanted one thing to be right in this case of wrong. You were crossing the front landing, when you tripped over something in the middle of the hall. Not suspecting anything to be on the ground but the mess that you left yourself, you fell, twisting so you could at least land on your behind, rather than your face. With a pained groan, you look to see what the culprit was. A black duffel bag, with the initials ‘JM’ sewn into the fabric. Of course. 

The cowboy's footsteps drew closer, and this time you could hear spurs jingling as he strode. “Are you okay?” he asked, and you exhaled with brisk annoyance.

“I’m fine, I just tripped over your stupid bag.” You growled. You moved to stand, but suddenly McCree was beside you, offering a hand and a guiltish grimace.

“My bad.” 

You studied him, scrutinizing with narrow eyes. After a moment of judgment, you took his hand and allowed him to help you up. There was a slightly awkward moment, with you on your feet, holding his hand. Your gazes held- yours still processing him best you could, and his of mild concern- for a brief second, before the both of you sprung apart, muttering incoherent apologies and thank yous.

Cheesy cowboy music wafted into the room as the credits rolled, and you nodded before resuming your trek into the kitchen. Toaster waffles awaited, even if it was closer to lunch time.

You’d make some for the cowboy, too.


	2. Road trip [Junkrat]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkie and you are stationed across the country. Will you make it there without difficulty?

Jamison Fawks is a Hero. 

Ew. No. Stop it there. Cut. Halt productions.

He tried it again: Jamison Fawks is a Hero.

It still tasted bad, the words, and he hadn’t even said them aloud. Sure, he fought for the side that was considered ‘Heroic’ but the title wasn’t one he was used to. Too many had called him the opposite, called him names that stung him more than he thought they should.

Jamison Fawks is an outlawed Mercenary, thief, demolitionist and scavenger. Who specializes in Anarchy and mayhem. 

Now that sounded normal to his soot stained ears. Even if he was still in front of the mirror, thinking to himself while silently making faces at it. Call him what you like, but ‘hero’ was still going to earn a   
look of disbelief from him. 

“Trashy!” a voice reached his ears, and the Aussie perked up, leaning towards the doorway to try and catch a glimpse of the source. A grin easily found its way onto his features when he realized who was calling him. 

“comin’!” he yelled back, a hand cupped to his mouth. Quickly, he snapped in his prosthetic and strode out of the bathroom, grabbing his gear and shrugging it on before he left the room. 

In the lobby, a girl stood, tapping her foot and drumming her fingers on her elbow with arms crossed. You had a duffle slung over your shoulder, you were dressed in travelling clothes- comfy sweater and jeans- and you were nervous, but didn’t show it.

Last time you were out of the base, you had five dozen trained guns on your head. 

“Roight, sweets, let’s get this show on da road!” Junkrat called to you, as he loped over. “...hog.”

“Haha.” You replied dryly, shaking your head a fraction. “You... Sure travel light.”

The junker had nothing but his clothes and battle equipment. No bags, nothing. He shrugged.

“Jammie. We’re going to stake out across the country for a week. I think you need more than that.” You pointed out, voice dripping with scepticism.

He shrugged again. “I don’ need anythin. Plus you packed th’ food.”

“You need more than just-” you cut yourself off, sighing in defeat. Argument with him was a chore, so you just let him be. Let his own choices bite him in the ass later.

He grinned the maniacal way he does, and started to the door, on the other side of which was a shining new Jeep waiting for the both of you. He claimed the drivers seat, but you quickly shoved him out when the million things that could go wrong went through your head. 

In moments, you were cruising down the roads leading to a major freeway. 

The trip to the destination would take three days tops, if things went as planned, where you would stay a week before returning. All of which was just going to be you and Junkrat.

You didn’t know if that was a good idea or not.  
You hung out with the guy, sometimes, but you never really talked or did much else than play video games. And you’d never seen him without Roadhog. So this was new. And you were already learning things, like how he actually stuck his head out the window like a dog...

“Stop doing that, you’ll swallow more bugs than anyone should in their entire life.” You said, but your voice didn’t have the enthusiasm that came with a warning.

He arched a brow and glanced at you. “You get used to it.”

You scrunched up your nose in disgust, but made no further argument. To your surprise, though, he did retract his head from the open air. He clicked on the radio, and a moment of fuzz gave way to a light rockish tune, that you vaguely recognized. A minute into the song and you were humming along, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel.

Junkrat, on the other hand, had reclined in his chair and let the song lull him to sleep. How he could get rest on the highway, you couldn’t fathom, but he did. And you couldn’t help but sneak a few glances. It was the one time he seemed at peace. It was... cute.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He mumbled tiredly, a lopsided smirk growing on his face. You scowled and switched your gaze to the road, denying anything.

\--

The sun cast deep oranges and reds across the sky as it sank beneath the skyline of a distant city. It was as if it went up in flames. It was a beautiful sight, even to Jamison.

Your hand lazily turned the wheel around another bend in the road. Trees began to reach up and hugged the road on both sides, blocking out the view and shrouding the vehicle. The quiet radio and the smooth road soon made your eyes heavy. 

A yawn escaped you.

“You wanna stop for a moment, sweets?” suggested Junkrat, beside you. “Yer gettin’ sloppy.”

“I’m just fine.” You assured him. “The next town is just a few minutes away.”

“Careful. I’m just startin’ to like this bloke.” He pat the dashboard to accent his statement, earning a chuckle from you.

“Right, right.” 

Moments later, the Aussie frowned. The vehicle was drifting dangerously to the tree-lined side of the road. “(y/n)?” he urged, glancing over. 

You’d fallen asleep at the wheel. What’d he tell you?

He acted quickly, clamping a hand on the steering wheel as he shifted closer, close enough to knock your foot off the gas. Then he pressed the brake, pulling to the side of the road best he could. He wasn’t entirely used to driving anything other than a motorcycle, but it was easy enough. He pushed the Jeep into park and let out a breath with a grin. He single-handedly saved your life. And you didn’t even know it yet.

Maybe he was a hero.

After basking in self-glory, he turned to you. You had passed out, heavily. The junker set a hand on your shoulder, then shook you violently.

“Wha-! I’m awake I’m awake!” you gasped, looking around wildly.

“A bit late to the party, sweets.” Junkrat smirked. “I'd say this calls for a ‘i told you so.’”

As you put two and two together, you let out a groan. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry. I guess you were right.”

He waved away your concern. “Yer just lucky I’ve got better drivin skills than you thought.”

You chuckled weakly. “Yeah...” You sighed and sat back in your seat. “Let’s stop here. The Jeep is equipped for it- blankets are in the back.”

“Sounds better than you trying to drive,” he teased, before reaching into the back seat and retrieving two throws. He tossed one to you before pushing open his door and scrambling onto the roof of the Jeep. You followed, wondering what the hell he was doing.

Jamison stretched out on the roof, using the balled up blanket as a pillow. He gave you a sidelong glance as you unsteadily laid next to him on the small space. After a moment of contemplation, you threw your own blanket over the two of you.  
And like that, you slept under the stars.

When you awoke, groggy but refreshed, the Aussie had slung an arm over you. He claimed late that you were going to roll off the Jeep roof.

But if you had studied him closer, upon interrogating him on the subject, the faintest of flushes had risen on his face.


	3. Mops and Duets [Lucio]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and frog man get busted during a prank, but no matter the punishment, music makes it better.

A sigh of contempt escapes you, as you leaned heavily on the mop you held in your right hand. The floor was covered in mud and snow from the team's last mission- somewhere in Russia, you remembered. But it was piled in many caked mounds around the lobby. Some had even left their boots scattered on the floor. It was as if they’d messed it up even more, just for you.

A sigh from beside you mirrored your own, from the one and only Lucio. “Man, how are we gonna clean this one up?”

You shrugged. “Well, might as well start on it.” You said reluctantly, grasping the mop and beginning to chip at the mess. Lucio twirled his own mop like a baton before starting. Even his cleaning had a bopping rhythm to it, without him trying.

As you cleaned, your spirits disappeared along with the grime and dirt. Your movements became sloppy and half-assed. One glance at Lucio and his rhythm had faltered as well.

The voice in the back of your head adopted Mercy’s tone ‘this is what you get for joking around and pulling pranks.’

Okay, so you might’ve accidentally spilled your soda on Athena’s mainframe when you and Lucio were graffiti-ing Winston’s room. You were so close, until your infamous clumsiness got in the way, yet again. You were caught red handed, and put on Janitor duty for three months.

You grimaced, as your thoughts decided to replay the ordeal behind your eyes. 

Winston was ecstatic, fretting over Athena like a midwife. Mercy and Soldier: 76 towered above you with glares that could single handedly put a halt to Talon’s operations. Pharah, D.Va and McCree all stood by, alerted by the commotion and obviously irritated it was just your usual antics instead of a real emergency.

Then, trudging down the halls, apologizing to Lucio for getting into this mess. 

And Lucio, ever bright and happy; “S’alright! It wasn't your fault,” he’d said. Even though it was. You wanted to make it up to him, and cleaning a mudstained room wasn’t the best start. 

The room was silent, and you hated it. Silence was like suspense before something horrible. Which put you more on edge than a cliff. So you filled the silence, softly humming a tune that was always ready in your mind when you needed it. Some old song that had been forgotten over the years, except by you.

When Lucio heard it, the sound of your soft hum wafting over the large space, he perked up. A grin slowly broke out over his face, as he tapped his foot to the beat. He knew your song, but he thought he was the only one who remembered it. 

You almost faltered when he began to sing the lyrics under his breath, then hummed the instrumental, as if his voice box was a one-man band. You joined in, light voice doing justice to the lyrics as he opted to tap his foot in place of drums and humming instead of playing a guitar.

And in that moment, you and Lucio became the best duet. At least in your opinion. 

When the song faded, the both of you humming the fading bass, he dissolved into laughter, closely followed by you. The room was cleaned, and you and him sat in the middle of the lobby, clutching your stomachs.

“I didn’t know you knew that song,” Lucio said, when the giggles receded.

You shrugged, grin never leaving your features. “I didn’t know anyone else knew it.”

“It's kinda before your time, isn’t it?” he titled his head.

“yours too,” you replied with a skeptical look.

He chuckled once more. “Touché.”

From then on, all cleaning sessions doubled as jamming sessions, whether it be new songs or old, you and the Brazilian rocked out, no longer deterred by the mess- no matter how big.


End file.
